


Take a Break

by destinationtoast



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelica POV, F/M, Flirting, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinationtoast/pseuds/destinationtoast
Summary: What if Hamilton had taken a break and run away with the Schuyler sisters?  How would that have changed that summer, and beyond?





	

“Alexander, no.”  He looks betrayed, hearing these words from me.  Those eyes of his turn all puppy dog, hurt by my tone.  But I’m firm.  

“Eliza, lend me your husband for a moment?”  She assents, as always.  Trusting, my sister.  I lead him outside, and we walk through the garden, mere inches apart.  

“I have to get my bill through Congress,” he says yet again.

“I know.”  He thinks Eliza and I don’t know, or don’t believe.  But we do.  “And you’ll need strong allies -- clever friends -- on your side.”

“I have nobody on my side,” he says, aggravated.  “Washington -- but he can’t get the bill through Congress.  I don’t have the votes, so I  _ must _ stay until I get them.”

I know how he is.  He bashes his head against the same wall the same way, hoping to out-stubborn the bricks.  Surprisingly enough, it often works for him.  But that doesn’t make it the best way past a wall.  

I stop our walk through the spring blooms, turning to face him. “You have someone else on your side.”  He stares at me blankly. “Someone who I’ve been told by a reliable source is ‘one of the finest minds on Earth in one of the loveliest forms.’”  

A grin breaks out over his face, as he recognizes his own words, from his own letter.  “Given that, who better to help you craft your strategy?”  I give him my most entreating look and squeeze his hands.   _ Come away with me. _  “Come away with us for the summer --”

“But I can’t --”

“Just the first part.  Just a month -- a few weeks, then.  I’ll help you solve the riddle of Jefferson.”  If we can turn him, Congress will follow -- and I know something Alexander doesn’t.   “Unless that was just empty flattery you threw at me to lure me back across the ocean,” I tease.  I tease him, because otherwise I’m going to either cry or slap him.  I came all this way, after such a long time.  I hold my breath.

He smiles.  I see in his eyes the moment he gives in.  He reaches up one hand to stroke my cheek, and his voice goes all soft.  “No.  Every word was true.  Angelica, I adore you -- we adore you, Eliza and I -- and you’re right.  I’d be a fool not to take advantage of you being here.  I’ll come upstate with you.  Just for a little while.”

For a long breathless moment we stand there like that, his hand on my face.  Then I let out a cry of delight and grab his hand, running inside to tell Eliza the good news.

* * *

On our journey, Alexander smiles frequently at us both, and I can’t help trying to detect a difference between the way he looks at me and his wife.   _ I adore you.   _ Does he mean it?  How does he mean it?  

More importantly, how am I still such a lovestruck young girl, after all these years?  What I feel for him has always been a wholly different kind of love than the fondness I bear my husband.  Every time I look into his eyes, desire courses through me, just like the first night we met.  

The first night he and Eliza met.  Eliza, my sister.  Whom I adore; we both adore.   Who loves us both.  Whatever Alexander means by his commas and his ambiguous phrases, it is of no consequence.  We must not hurt Eliza.  And I will never be satisfied.

To distract myself, I start a letter to another flirtatious correspondent -- one who doesn’t appeal to me like the one currently sharing my stagecoach, but one who makes no effort to conceal his desire for me.  One who is not family, and thus uncomplicated.  

“Your last letter was exceedingly sweet, and your compliments most appreciated.  I too, am finding our exchange refreshing.  And the thought of spending more time with you again is tempting, I must admit -- I think often of our time together in Paris. 

“However, your assertion that there is no place in politics for women is one with which I must strenuously disagree -- though it’s clear why you call us ‘the fairer sex’ when you yourself have such inequitable views!  But it’s especially perplexing that you should try to persuade me of such beliefs at the same time as you dare me to run off with you to tour America together.  What do you think my interest in this young country is, if not political?  Do you think I’ll happily consent to the men who build this country ignoring the voice of half its residents?  Were we to meet again, I must warn you, I could hardly prevent myself from employing each and every means at my disposal to change your mind on this matter.”  

It may not sound much like flirting, but it is the kind I favored most.  I’ve never been able to separate personal and political discourse.  Neither have the men that I’ve attracted or been attracted to.

* * *

At our father’s estate, we quickly develop a routine.  Alexander works alone early in the day, up before dawn drafting manifestos, exhortations, threats about what will happen if Congress does not adopt his plan.   Eliza and I rise later and visit with the children before dismissing them; I’ve brought mine to see their cousins and grandparents.  As the unruly throng runs off to play under the watchful eye of their nanny, Eliza and I linger over our breakfast, talking about anything and everything, teasing in the way of sisters.  Then I take Alexander his midday meal -- he still tends toward scrawny after all these years, and will forget to eat if not reminded.  We work together until it’s time for a light supper with the family, and then Eliza and Alexander and I stay up into the night, talking.  I always excuse myself for bed when Eliza does, if not before.

Every day, in Alexander’s study, the same argument:

“I must go back to speak with Congress directly.  This letter writing campaign is too slow, and will fail.”

“Just a little longer, Alexander.  You’ve been here such a short while, and you work too hard -- we’ve hardly seen you.   _ I’ve _ hardly seen you.”  Our eyes meet and I give my most beseeching smile.  

He humphs with frustration, gestures at the papers strewn across the writing desk our father has lent him.  “There’s too much to be done.  And none of this will persuade Jefferson or Madison, I fear.  I have to go in person --”

“Here, let me look.”

Every afternoon, I read his words and give feedback.  I debate with him, playing the role of Jefferson.  I argue with him based on what I believe Washington -- a more cautious, moderate man -- might say.   Together, we work out proposals, identify bargaining chips.  Together, we temper his words, shape them into a series of letters to key members of both Congress and the administration. 

It’s hard work.  Also some of the most fun I’ve ever had.  I’ve never seen such a mind at work as his, or exercised my own mind so extensively.  If ever there was a chance I would fall out of love with Alexander, it’s gone now.  

Is he falling more in love with me, too?  Sometimes I think so.  Those moments of breakthrough, when we laugh and he claps with delight and then catches my eye, and the world holds still for a long breath.  But we have a nation to build and Eliza to protect.

* * *

Each time Alexander threatens to hand deliver his letters back to Congress and resume working from New York City, I find a messenger to go in his stead.  This allows me to also send other messages that he doesn’t know about.

“My dearest Thomas,” I write to my other secret suitor.  “I miss our days talking and wandering together along the Seine, as well.  And your home sounds lovely; resuming our walks and talks in Virginia at some point in the future is a beautiful thought.     
  
“But I know you work so hard at the capital in New York, and so rarely get to visit your home.  I know you shall be stuck in the capital until you and Hamilton reach a compromise, and only then may get a brief respite at Monticello.”  

Hopefully this will help plant the seeds of the same compromise in his head that Alexander and I have thought to propose.  Hopefully the two of them will settle things soon.

* * *

A restless night.  

I remember his words.   _ “Angelica, I adore you.” _

Fingers, slick.

_ “I’d be a fool not to take advantage of your being here.” _

I move frantically, seeking release.  

_ His fingers, on my cheek.  His eyes, the moment he says yes to me. _

I see stars and am flooded with blessed lassitude.  No guilt; I’m long used to it after all these years.  I love my husband, after a fashion -- certainly I enjoy spending time with him, and he is a good father.  But he has never provided me much satisfaction in our marriage bed, and I can hardly regret taking matters into my own hands.  

I once felt shame over lusting after my sister’s husband, but I’ve relaxed after years of flirting with Alexander with Eliza’s knowledge and approval.  As long as she thinks it’s all a game -- as long as she doesn’t know the intensity of my desire, and as long as the only time I act on that desire is alone in my bed -- she’ll be happy.

I drift off to the sounds of Alexander and my dearest friend, Eliza, speaking in soft tones in the bedroom above mine.

* * *

In the morning room, after the children have left, Eliza says, “Alexander and I visited the park last night.”  As if I weren’t well aware that they had slipped out together after dark last night.  And the night before.  “You know, the spot down by the lake?”  

I hear the mischievous smile in her voice, but I don’t look up from my embroidery.  I hope I manage to keep my tone neutral. “I think I know the one.” 

She sighs happily.  “It is so nice to have him here with us -- I was so afraid he wouldn’t come!  And to be able to slip away and … get his  _ full _ attention.”

She says it so saucily that I can’t help but laugh, dispelling some of the building tension.  “Eliza!” I say, dropping my needlework and putting on a show of sounding scandalized, as I know she wants me to.  We giggle madly for a bit, and I focus on my love for her, and how happy I am that she’s happy.

“I have you to thank for getting him here, I think,” she says fondly, as we calm down.  “And for keeping him here.”  She grabs my hand and squeezes.  “Thank you.  Thank you for bringing him to me, Angelica -- yet again.”  

I try to smile, but find it more difficult than before.  “Well, I’m sure it’s the joint pull of the Schuyler sisters.  We’re a compelling pair.”

She smiles at me.  “True.  I’m so glad you’re here, Sister.  And I’m also thrilled that the two of you are finally having the chance to exercise your brilliant political minds together, in person. I must admit I listen in a bit sometimes, and the two of you -- you’re dazzling.”

I feel a brief moment of guilt and resentment, hearing that she’s been listening.  But why?  It’s our time alone together, but it’s not as if we’re doing anything inappropriate.  And I have specifically been leaving the door wide open whenever we’re in the study so that I’m never tempted.  Still, it’s the one thing I have with Alexander that is just ours.  And Eliza, while deeply intelligent, has always been the least interested in politics of our very political family -- can’t she let us have this one thing?

I shake myself out of these deeply ungenerous thoughts and smile.  “I’m glad of the time here, too.  And I think we’re making good headway -- better than I think he’d be doing on his own, frankly.”

Eliza laughs.  “I’ve little doubt of that.  Sometimes he can benefit from a calmer influence.”

“ _ Some _ times?”  We both laugh.

“But Sister,” Eliza says, “I worry that all the time you’re together with him is spent working.”

“Hardly,” I protest uncertainly, not knowing where she’s leading.  “Our evenings with you are my favorite times of the day.”   

She nods in agreement.  “They’re lovely.  But it’s different, with the three of us together.”

I stare at her, trying to fathom her point.  “The two of you shouldn’t spend all your time together working,” she continues.  “Why don’t you go for a walk with him tonight?”

I know Eliza trusts us both, but this is too cruel.  She’s more innocent even than I thought of my feelings.  “Eliza -- we can’t -- I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She shrugs.  “Well, it’s your choice, of course.  But it’s a shame if you miss out -- there’s a place in the park, down by the lake, that truly is phenomenal.  And you would certainly have Alexander’s full attention.”  She smiles slyly.

I am speechless for a long moment.  Then a second long moment.  Finally, I say, “Eliza, you minx!”

She laughs.  “You told me once that if I really loved you I would share him.”

I shake my head slowly.  “But -- are you sure?”  

She smiles warmly and squeezes my hands.  “Never surer.  He loves you -- we talk about you every day that you’re away.  And I love you both.  There is only one thing I ask.”

“Anything,” I say quickly.  “What is it?”

“I consent to everything -- save that the two of you come to love each other more than you love me.”

“Never!” I clasp her hands to my chest.  My dear, sweet, precious Eliza.  You deserve to be loved and protected and cherished, always.  

* * *

Alexander looks at us both with some confusion when Eliza says she is tired after supper and suggests we take a walk together without her.  But after Eliza assures him that she is quite well, and nothing is amiss, he consents eagerly.  We kiss her goodnight, link arms, and set out to stroll, lantern in hand.

We rapidly lose ourselves in a discussion of whether it might be to our advantage for him to found a newspaper.  In fact, I nearly forget my ulterior motives in the heat of debate.  By the time we reach the lake in the park, Alexander has launched into an impassioned speech, and I turn to face him and listen, swept up in the sense of his argument, but also by his voice, and his eyes, and him.

As he finishes, I smile and say, “All right, you win.”  And I kiss him.

It’s a quick kiss, lingering just a bit longer on his lips than the friendly kisses we’ve exchanged before, and then I draw back, suddenly anxious -- I think he wants this as much as I do, but what if I am just a loveblind fool?  

He has a rare moment of speechlessness.  Long enough that I panic and prepare myself to laugh it off.  

Then he puts the lantern down, closes the gap, and kisses me -- firmly, ardently, leaving no doubt that he wants me as well.

For a long moment, I lose myself to his lips and his hands.  But then, in spite of how much I want this, I am troubled by how easy it was to obtain.  I pull back, breathless.  If he is so quick to act, even without knowing Eliza’s will...  “Alexander,” I whisper.  “You must promise me something.”

“What is it, love?” My heart leaps at the endearment.

“You must never hurt Eliza.”  At her name, he freezes up guiltily.  “She’s given her blessing,” he relaxes visibly, “which is the reason why I am here with you now.”

“She --” he shakes his head in wonder.  You...” he trails off, amusingly inarticulate, and leans forward to kiss me again.

I put a finger against his lips, a breath from mine. “You must promise me you’ll never break her heart.  If you should want too much with me --” no, I will not that let happen. “Or if you should ever love another --”

“How could I need another, when blessed with the two finest women in the world?”

I shake my head.  I know him.  He will never be satisfied.  “If you should get yourself in any kind of trouble --” his wide innocent eyes, not to be believed “--tell me but not her.  I will help keep the family name clear, and Eliza happy.”

He stares at me a long, admiring moment.  “All right. Eliza shall come first in both our hearts, always.  I agree -- now come here, and let me find a way to distract you from contractually extracting promises for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my beta reader, Lisa E.!
> 
> This is mostly based on the musical, but looking for additional inspiration, I did go down a bit of a rabbit hole reading some of Angelica’s historical letters to/from Hamilton, Jefferson, Washington, and Lafayette. But I haven’t read Chernow or any other sources, and don’t promise historical accuracy. And whenever I am aware that the musical played fast and loose with details of historical timeline or events, I’ve followed the musical. 
> 
> Here are a few relevant letter excerpts, for the curious:
> 
> “Indeed my dear, Sir if my path was strewed with as many roses, as you have filled your letter with compliments, I should not now lament my absence from America” -- Angelica to Alexander, Oct 1787
> 
> “I seldom write to a lady without fancying the relation of lover and mistress. It has a very inspiring effect. And in your case the dullest materials could not help feeling that propensity.” Alexander to Angelica, Dec 1787
> 
> “Remember this also yourself my dearest Brother and let neither politics or ambition drive your Angelica from your affections. Adieu my dear Brother, may god bless and protect you, prays your ever affectionate Angelica ever ever yours.” Angelica to Alexander, Nov 1789
> 
> “[Eliza] consents to every thing, except that I should love you as well as herself and this you are too reasonable to expect.” Alexander to Angelica, Oct 1791
> 
> ‘Six months after they met, Jefferson begs Angelica to return to Paris and in August 1788 he seductively proposes that she accompany him on a vacation to America.  
> ‘Think of it, my friend, and let us begin a negotiation on the subject. You shall find in me all the spirit of accommodation with which Yoric began his with the fair Piedmontese. Jefferson to Angelica, August 1788  
> ‘...In an earlier letter, Jefferson also urged Angelica to return with him to America: "Let’s go back together then. you intend it a visit; so do I. While you are indulging with your friends on the Hudson, I will go to see if Monticello remains in the same place, or I will attend you to the falls of Niagara, if you will go with me to the passage of the Potowmac, the Natural Bridge, etc.," he wrote.’ [[source](http://churchtree.tripod.com/angchurch.html)]
> 
> Also, Hamilton did eventually found _The New York Post_ (though not until 1801; this chapter takes place in the summer of 1789).


End file.
